


Heartless

by sherpace_writes



Category: The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Love Poems, M/M, Oscar Wilde references again, old-fashioned boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:37:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherpace_writes/pseuds/sherpace_writes
Summary: "Under the lone, pale moon..."Malcolm loves his boyfriend; really, he does. But does hehaveto smash a window every time he wants to give Malcolm a poem?





	Heartless

**Author's Note:**

> Another Sherpace fic I just had to get out of my system, inspired by @rueqard's headcanons! Take notes, Rick.  
> (Just kidding you're awesome...but, still. Take notes.)

**_My heart?_ **

**_By all means, take it!_ **

**_It belongs to you now._ **

* * *

 Children of Ares were notorious for being impatient.

Although, Malcolm wasn’t convinced that that applied to _every_ single one...he was, after all, quite close to a relatively even-tempered Ares camper.

And by ‘quite close’, he meant that they often stole kisses behind cabins and slept in the other’s arms.

(In their defence, they’d both just come back from a taxing quest and did not even realise when they’d passed out on the sofa in the Big House...needless to say, Mr D would have dumped his Diet Coke on them if it weren’t for Pollux.)

Still, even Sherman Yang had his limits. Malcolm was starting to develop a fear of closing his windows, because who knew when—

_SMASH._

“ _Ow—_ what the _fuck_?”

Malcolm stifled a yelp, then almost burst laughing when he saw his half-brother, Louis, rubbing his arm and glaring at a rock that had flown in through the window, shattering the glass.

For the third time that month.

“That would be mine,” Malcolm said, snatching up the rock. He removed the paper taped to it and tucked it in his pocket.

“This is the third time, Malcolm!” Louis huffed. “Please introduce your boyfriend to this lovely invention I like to call: the _door._ ”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Malcolm said, though he doubted he could really change Sherman’s mind. He usually threw a rock through the window with a paper taped to it when he wanted Malcolm to read it right away.

He slipped past his cabin mate, pushing open the front door and stepping outside, leaving behind a grumbling Louis. His eyes scanned the surroundings for Sherman, but he couldn’t spot him. Either he’d run, which wasn’t quite like him, or...he wasn’t done with the surprises yet.

Malcolm pursed his lips and stood in a small, dark corner next to the cabin, pulling the paper out. Before he read anything Sherman wrote, he couldn’t stop himself from admiring his handwriting. All his siblings had messy, blocky writing, but Sherman...he was starting to suspect that he exercised penmanship in his free time.

His handwriting was elegant in a way that made it seem effortless — the loops of the _o_ ’s and the curves of the _c_ ’s, that little line across the _z_ and the way his dots were tiny circles. Malcolm was impressed every time.

His eyes finally settled on the words themselves, and he mouthed them softly under his breath.

“ _Under the lone, pale moon you stood / your eyes captured the night and held the stars within / and as the night flowers wept at a sight so serene / my heart fluttered to the seventh sky."_

Malcolm inhaled sharply, his hand flying to his face in a weak attempt at hiding his blush.

No one knew that Sherman Yang wrote poems this beautiful. And Malcolm didn’t want them to. This side of Sherman was for him — only for him.

So where the Hades _was_ he? He couldn’t have expected Malcolm to not want to see him after a poem like this, did he?

“Under the lone, pale moon…” He murmured, and suddenly realised that this wasn’t Sherman’s imagination — well, not entirely. They _had_ shared a night like that, just a week ago.

“The strawberry fields,” Malcolm concluded, and he couldn’t stop the grin that spread on his face. He often doubted that Athena hadn’t blessed Sherman.

He slipped the paper into his pocket and went in that direction, trying not to walk too fast. Oh no, he wouldn’t give Sherman the satisfaction of seeing him run to him.

Although he wasn’t quite far from it.

His interpretation was right (when was it not?); Sherman was sitting with his back to the very tree they had stood next to that night, just the two of them, fingers laced together, lips centimetres apart. Recalling the memory sent a rush of adrenaline through him.

The son of Ares looked up at him lazily, a sly smirk on his face. A certain fire seemed to dance in his eyes, beckoning him forward.

“...Took you long enough,” He finally said, his voice taunting.

Malcolm cleared his throat and, for the sake of his dignity, assumed a more professional expression. “Please, it hasn’t been five minutes since you threw the rock. Speaking of which,” he tossed it to him and Sherman grabbed it, turning it over in his fingers, “Louis likes you a little less now.”

Sherman laughed. “Not much love left then, hm?” He set the rock down and reached for Malcolm’s hand.

“That’s alright,” he said smoothly, “the only love I need is yours.”

Malcolm tried to keep his voice steady; the tingling in his fingers wasn’t helping. “That...was a good one.”

“Oh, you’re positively flattered.”

Sherman pulled him down, clasping his hand. He planted a soft kiss on his cheek, running his other hand through his hair.

Malcolm turned pink.

“What did you think of my poem?” Sherman murmured, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Malcolm sighed in content and leaned back, wrapping an arm around him loosely.

“Not bad,” he said, though he made an effort to hide a smirk. He never gave Sherman the proper praise he deserved.

“‘Not bad’...” Sherman scoffed. “It deserves a much better—” he suddenly paused as Malcolm looked at him. They burst into laughter, recalling their spar just two days ago.

“This is what you get for not showing proper appreciation,” Malcolm teased. Sherman pulled back and gave him a cocky grin, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“You’re heartless,” Sherman accused, before leaning against the tree again and raising his face to the sky. The sunlight made his lips look glossier, his jawline more pronounced. Malcolm couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him, noticing a faint taste of chocolate — and then he laid his head on his lap.

“Because you’ve already stolen my heart,” Malcolm whispered, “So I don’t have one now.”

Sherman smiled, stroking his hair. “Do you want me to return it?”

“...No,” Malcolm said, his hand drifting upwards to Sherman’s chest. He placed it right above his heart, relaxing as he felt it beat underneath his fingertips. “It’s yours for the keeping.”

“In that case,” Sherman placed his hand over Malcolm’s chest, “so is mine.”

He removed Malcolm’s hand and peppered kisses over his knuckles. Malcolm’s eyes fluttered shut, the pinkish tint returning to his cheeks.

“Under the moonlight, your eyes capture the stars,” Sherman murmured, his lips pressed to Malcolm’s fingertips, “and under the sunshine, your eyes capture rainbows.”

Malcolm’s breath hitched. “...Consider adding that to your poem.”

Sherman scoffed, playfully tugging at the golden locks. “I could write a hundred poems about you and none of them would do you justice, Malcolm Pace.”

Malcolm opened his eyes, looking up at the familiar pair of eyes, dark as ink.

“This is why you need to keep my heart,” he murmured. “It’s going to stop any minute.”

Sherman laughed, and again Malcolm felt like a victim of one of Mr D’s delirium spells.

“And you say I’m the dork?”

“You know what, just shut up and kiss me, Yang.”

“When you say it like that, I couldn’t possibly refuse.”

They wrapped their arms around each other and pressed their lips together, smiling into the kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos & comments are definitely appreciated ♡


End file.
